


Poppies

by jawnslulluby21



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU younger days, Angst, M/M, Smut, heartfelt development of charcters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawnslulluby21/pseuds/jawnslulluby21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is in Uni and John Watson is in his third year of residency. Mayhem ensues when Sherlock is brought in on a drug OD. Reference to drugs, overdosing, hospital procedures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

His world as he knew it had been torn from him, ripped to shreds, and discarded in a bloody bin.  
Sherlock Holmes ran a hand through his naturally curly hair, silently cursing as his sproingy bits got caught between his long fingers and tugged at his scalp. He paced the small but opulent apartment and groaned out loud. Had yesterday even happened and if so, which it clearly did, why couldn’t he move past it? Why couldn’t he just ignore the teasing? The sharp words meant to hurt and poke his sensitive soul? He was much more than a freak or a fop or a weirdo. He knew that so why didn’t they?  
He had been at university for a year now and had no real friends. He had had a roommate once but the kid only lasted for a week before he wanted to switch to move in with some buddy of his. Sherlock had been a little sad but then again, he could have the dorm room all to himself then. SO that worked out. And then Mycroft sprung for his apartment where he presently stayed so that was even better!

But as for his social life, whenever he tried to make friends, or join a group of students who were talking or studying, his very appearance would cause silence and as he walked away, stuttering laughs and giggles at his expense. He heard most of their insults but not all. And even though he knew he was quite different than they were, the fact remained that as a human being, he did long for friends and companionship instead of being alone all the damned time.  
Sebastien had really done it this time, though. He had made known to Sherlock that he was going to have a gathering of his friends and had invited Sherlock there, too. Sherlock was secretly pleased as he thought Sebastien was a pretty good guy; he was smart and had aspirations of being a banker or a stock broker. He was quick with the wit and even quicker to make friends. And Sherlock did not hesitate to accept his kind invitation to come to a bar to make the acquaintance of some of his mates.  
But when Sherlock had arrived, it was very clear that he, Sherlock, was to be the main attraction with giggles and sniggers and laughter coming from the assembled crowd. He heard the words Sociopath, retard, and Satan and he had fled rather unceremoniously with just a backward glance at his…well, friend…Sebastien, who was leading the pack in laughter. That hurt. That hurt so badly.  
Sherlock suddenly stopped pacing and took a deep steady breath. What had he told his brother Mycroft about going to college and trying to live a NORMAL life? There was nothing NORMAL about himself? That and a few other hundred things but they fell on deaf ears and so here he was, an outcast and the subject of ridicule. He knew what he had to do, what he wanted to do….  
Sprinting to his dresser, Sherlock took out a rather large plastic bag. Inside the bag were the tools of what he needed to escape this world and not remember the pain or embarrassment of having almost the entire freshman class at the university laugh at him. He wasn’t a prat or a git or even a clown. He had feelings, dammit, and those feelings…well right now, they threatened to overwhelm him and sink his already fragile ego.  
Sherlock laid his preparations on the dresser top and rolled up his shirt sleeve. His skin was white, almost alabaster, and untarnished by neither freckle or mole. There were minute pin pricks along his one strong vein, some that were old, and some that looked fairly fresh. This was his shameful secret and one that even his older brother didn’t know. Sherlock frowned as he carefully diluted the white powder with a couple of drops of sterile water from an eyedrop bottle. The liquid ampoule lay in the bottom of a tablespoon that had leaves engraved along the handle. Sherlock studied this for a few seconds, remembering with a pang of guilt that this spoon had come from his house, the one he had grown up in, and the one where Mycroft and his Mummy still lived. Stilling those feelings, he frowned and focused on drawing the liquid into a clean syringe that he had broken out of a bubblepack. When he was satisfied he had enough in the syringe, he put the hypo aside and took a length of elastic tubing and encircled his upper arm, drawing it tight with the other hand. It took just a few seconds for his veins to throb and open up like a field of flowers. Concentrating, he chose one and stabbed the needle into the blue, then released the trigger, the liquid oozing into his bloodstream. SO much better than oral or inhalation. Sherlock knew from past experience that riding the horse assured him of a quick high and a dream like state for over 8 hours. He would nod off and forget the laughter and the stares and the names. Had he tried to take a tablet, cheaper than street value crystallines, he would have been 30 minutes or more in procuring the high he needed and that would have been tedious at best.  
He felt the drug slam into his system. It had been some weeks since he had last used and this was…this was exhilarating. His pulse began to race and his vision was…a myriad of stars. Sherlock reached upwards and then began to laugh. Things were funny somewhere. He felt high, fast, invincible. Or maybe even invisible. He felt like he could walk through walls and his hands, oh his hands with the long expressive fingers were like art weaves in a gentle pattern of blues and greens.  
Sherlock didn’t notice he had fallen on to the floor but as he began to crawl towards the apartment door—why? He didn’t know why- he heard a little voice inside of his head saying something about too much too soon. His heart felt like it was slamming out of his chest and he gasped and looked at his hand again. There was some blood on the back of his hand. Funny. He hadn’t remembered if he had broken anything glass or ceramic oh look a waterfall. Something was terribly wrong. He never should have purchased this …this anathema from some drug dealer he didn’t know. It was too pure, he guessed, his brain trying to think, trying to connect and all the nerves and proper synapses and neurons weren’t working they were rebelling and omg he reached for the door handle and opened it or someone else had and he was retching and then black black grey soft landing gone fly away he wasn’ttherehewassomethingelsemaybefloatinghewas….

John Watson was just drinking his umpteenth cuppah when he heard the emergency page. He stood and tried to fight the fatigue that he had felt all day as a third year residence doctor at St Bart’s. It was to be expected though because he was a) damned good and b) a third year resident doctor. He hurried to the ER, popping a piece of peppermint to get rid of his coffee breath, and wondered what it was this time. The doctors and nurses saw a lot of students who made themselves sick on stimulants this time of year and he wondered if perhaps this was one of those cases. John had always wanted to tell them that it was foolish to try and beat the system by popping these damned stimulants, as there was always a chance of allergies or reactions, but he kept his lectures close to the vest and just tried to help.  
He knew, however, when he first entered the triage unit, that this case was not simple open and closed. He saw a young man, barely out of his teens, if that, with long auburn curls and pale skin, dressed in a set of thermal loungers, laying on the gurney. He was lifeless with specks of vomit hanging about his cupid bowed lips. The monitors were peeking out signs of a slow heartbeat and alarmingly low blood pressure. His eyes fluttered beneath closed lids. John took a deep breath and then took charge.  
Using his pen light, he pulled open the young man’s eyelids and focused the light directly inside. He noted the pinpricks that served as pupils. He pushed up a sleeve, finding nothing, then pushed up the other sleeve and saw the fine tracks of past and present drug use. Mentally cursing, John then re checked the patient’s pulse (42~!) and listened to the labored breathing.  
“Does anyone know what he took? Anyone????” John looked around, spying a well dressed older man who was hovering along the side of the room.  
“Morphine. I do believe he took a substantial amount this time.”  
John sighed and his attention focused back on his patient. He told the Triage nurse to start an IV and ordered Nalaxone to counteract the deadly effects of the narcotic. As soon as she began the IV, John stood watch and kept checking the pulse of the wasted young man. Still weak. No change. He cursed aloud and then looked up, feeling ashamed that he did it in front of a relative or friend of the addict.  
“you will have to leave. There is a waiting area outside the door.”  
“If you mean that I will wait then you are mistaken. I have things to do. He got himself into this mess. He can sort himself out. Good day, Doctor.” The well dressed man tipped his bowler and wandered out of the room. John could no more stand and stare at him than curse him so he did both then turned his focus on his patient.  
He had to get the breathing under control. The young man was having respiratory distress so John knew he had to either administer more nalaxone or charcoal and make him throw up which would be dangerous since he was unconscious. He ordered 10 more cc’s of nalaxone and hoped it worked.  
John held one hand while the nurse adjusted the dosage and watched as the young man’s eyes fluttered, then finally opened. He was still breathing hard, but his blood pressure was coming up and his pulse was stronger. John sighed. He had guessed right. The narcotic was being pushed aside with the antidote. He wasn’t always this lucky with erring on the side of caution for overdose victims. He remembered one young woman, obviously pregnant, who had come in as a flatline od. He had tried to do his best but in the end, it was for naught. She had died 6 hours later without waking up. But this one, this extraordinary looking young man was rallying. John allowed himself a glimmer of hope from this.  
Sherlock was done drifting. He felt something in his arm and immediately he was noticing that he had lost the effects of the morphine. How had that happened? His high usually lasted 6 to 8 hours and …oh God. He was in the hospital. He sighed or some semblance of one. Now there would be a formal inquisition.  
Beside him, a young doctor stood, holding Sherlock’s wrist and frowning at the monitors beside the bed. Sherlock realized that his pulse was still slow and he felt light headed and nauseous. The doctor was still standing still but now with a downwards glance realized that Sherlock was awake.  
“Hello.” A small smile played along the doctor’s thin lips. In an instant, even though Sherlock was somewhat incapacitated, he could tell some things about the good doctor. Young but in his third year of residency judging from the scrubs he was wearing and his stethoscope. It wasn’t new but was very expensive possibly a gift but no, purchased by the doctor himself a few years back at some sale that hospitals always had when they had used instruments for their interns to buy. His eyes looked tired and the bags under them indicated he had had perhaps 6 hours of sleep in the past 48 hours. He hadn’t shaved in a week judging from the stubble on his chin and upper lip but his true hair colour was the dirty blond because his whiskers were almost white looking. No ring and not a pretense of good grooming meant that he was single and the clip of his fingernails meant that he was meticulous enough to want to be a surgeon, aspirations perhaps a little lofty considering his shoes that were well worn and not expensive meaning he was not a rich kid who wanted to go to school on his parents’ dime.  
“Are we awake now?” His voice was pleasant and light but underneath his tone was almost maternal. Sherlock sighed and looked away, away from those blue eyes that were boring into him like searchlights.  
“I’m no addict if that’s what you’re thinking. I am a recreational user.”  
“Really? Well, that’s news. Maybe then you need someone to tell you how to spot the synthetic from the real stuff then. A couple more drops would have killed you. Stopped your heart. You would have aspirated and died.”  
“Indeed. I know what an overdose does, Doctor.” Sherlock’s eyes studied his IV pole. “When can I leave?”  
“When I sign the orders and right now, you aren’t going anywhere. We have a room for you. An orderly will take you up there and make you comfy.” John placed Sherlock’s hand down on the gurney and picked up the chart that had been lying on the adjacent table. “How old are you?”  
“Why? Taking a poll?”  
“God, you’re cheeky aren’t you?” John sighed and stared into those silver green blue eyes, marveling at the colours. It was like a kaleidoscope in the blender. He caught himself and shrugged. “OK, then let me explain something here. YOU took a drug overdose. An illegal narcotic-“  
“Yes and apparently something went wrong yadda yadda yadda and I suppose my brother Mycroft left before he found out if I lived or died. It figures.” Despite his bravado, Sherlock felt tears prick the backs of his eyes so he looked away and flopped a hand uselessly. “Fine. I’m 19. I go to university. Second year.”  
“Was that so hard?” John looked kindly at his young patient. Something about the man seemed out of place, as though he was trying too hard to be cool and nonchalant. John knew how that felt, seeing as his whole life he had fended for himself, getting little or no help from his family which now consisted of an older sister.  
“Depends on the day of the week, I suppose.” Sherlock tried to remove the IV lock on his hand but John thankfully caught it in time.  
“No. I wouldn’t do that. You need the medicine. And then you are going to get a laxative to flush it all out of your system.”  
“How tedious.” Sherlock looked away and focused on the wall. He felt embarrassed and futile at trying to get away. It was evident that the good doctor was not going to let him go that easily.  
“Tedious or no….it’s going to happen.” John heard his patient sigh loudly and melodramatically. “Why did you do it? Bored? Angry? Wanted a cheap high? You should have done something else.” John was signing something on the chart and even though Sherlock craned his long neck, he couldn’t see what the writing was all about. Curse the blurry vision of an overdose!  
“Would you believe me if I said I know how much to take at one time? Unfortunately, I used a different supplier. Made for a rather messy situation.”  
“A messy…” John stopped mid sentence and stared at the young man. “You almost DIED. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”  
“Should it?” Sherlock quickly countered.  
“Yes. It should. What’s your name?” John leaned forward, scrutinizing Sherlock with dark angry eyes.  
“Sherlock Holmes.”  
“Well Sherlock Holmes. I wouldn’t suggest you abuse your system any longer. The next time might be your last.”  
“And who would really give a bloody fuck?” Sherlock bit his lip, trying not to let the tears come. He was tired and his stomach hurt and he was stuck in the hospital and getting a lecture. This was not good. Not good at all.  
“I would, for one.” At John’s gentle tone, Sherlock seemed to come undone. He let the tears spill from his half lidded eyes, wiping at them furiously with one balled up fist. “Oh don’t cry, it’s ok. It’s fine. You are going to be just fine.” John perched on the side of the bed and easily pulled the thin young man over to his chest. He felt Sherlock grab his shirt front with his hands and ball the scrub fabric into tight fistfuls. His tears came unhindered while sobs wracked his frame. “It’s ok. Really. It’s ok.” John’s voice was gentle and even and as he spoke, his hands stroked the mass of curls. Sherlock thought to himself that he had never known such tenderness. He could have just died from the gesture.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More to come in the Au lives of Sherlock and John

John finished up his soup and put his bowl on his small lap tray. Since moving in, and establishing some sort of semblance of a relationship with Sherlock, he had tried to keep the flat orderly and tidy but it was always a losing battle with his flatmate and his flatmate's interests. Sherlock had suddenly decided to pursue some rather unorthodox detective work, helping out an Inspector named Greg Lestrade, and John was noticing that Sherlock was starting to bring home all kinds of paraphernalia from his hobby. There were books and papers scattered all over the main living area, and threatening to topple off the desk Sherlock had claimed as his own. Some body parts (Yes, BODY PARTS!) were encased in plastic bags in the fridge, and in the one cupboard, Sherlock was amassing some medical and lab equipment from who knows where, although John deduced that it was almost junk that was tagged to be thrown away from the university's labs. John had brought home a box of latex gloves for Sherlock, who was more than pleased, judging by the grin on his young thin face, when John had given the box to him.  
But that was life with Sherlock and John was still grateful that Mycroft was giving him free room and board and a small stipend for being here for Sherlock. And since the ecstasy scare John was relieved that Sherlock had not indulged in anything stronger than asking for an aspirin for a headache.  
John heard the street door open and light footfalls practically leaping up the stairs. He hid a small smile. Sherlock whirled in almost breathlessly, his cheeks red from the cold outside and his scarf billowing out behind him.  
"John."  
"Sherlock." John grinned up at him and motioned towards the empty bowl on his tray. "Have you eaten? Mrs. Hudson made soup. I can warm a bowl if you'd like."  
"No time to eat, John. I have some research to do." In his arms were files of papers and John grimaced as the younger man threw them on the already full desk. "Lestrade wants me to research the parallels between a robbery case now and a robbery case two years ago.: His blue green eyes met John's. "Sounds tedious but isn't."  
"Not tedious? Well, you still have to um go through all of that paperwork." John sighed and stood, taking his tray out to the kitchen and rinsing his bowl out in the sink. Sherlock should probably eat, he thought. The young man was so slender that it seemed like a stiff wind would blow him away. Well, except for those feet, John thought. They could be anchors. "It won't take a minute to heat up some soup."  
"John, please. I am busy." Sherlock bent over his desk, his coat thrown carelessly across the back of the sofa and his scarf laying in a heap on top of it. Already he was reading quickly, going through sheet after sheet of paper and John wondered not for the first time if his flatmate and charge was more than brilliant.  
"Did you go to your classes today?" John asked, getting a bowl out of the cupboard and putting some soup into it. This he put into the microwave and set the timer. He glanced back at Sherlock waiting for an answer.  
"Classes are boring, John." He laid a file folder aside and straightened up. "This...."Sherlock held up another file, "THIS is interesting."  
"Your brother wants you to finish your degree. And you're doing so well with it, Sherlock." John deliberately kept his voice level and soft, knowing that a lecture would only be meant with some scorn from the younger man.  
"John." Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his long curly hair. "I am already way ahead of the rest of my classmates in reading and in the assignments. It's all good." He went back to reading, his eyes darting in their peculiar way of reading.  
"I hope so. And didn't you say you had a lecture tonight? Are you going to that?"  
"Don't annoy me, John. I'm in a good mood." Sherlock's voice was turning churlish so John backed off, not wanting to start an argument.  
The timer chimed and John took the soup out and brought it in to the desk where Sherlock stood studying the files. "You need to eat. Better for your body to get some real nutrition instead of eating junk food on the go."  
Sherlock looked up from his reading and cocked his head. John was standing there so seriously with the bowl of soup extended that Sherlock decided to humour him and accept it. Besides, it did smell very good and his stomach rumbled as he inhaled the aroma of noodles and vegetables in a savoury broth. With a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Sherlock put his papers aside and sat down, the bowl in front of him, and began to dig in, blowing on every mouthful and watching the heat curl around his spoon.  
John turned away with a suddenness. He felt his heart lurch because just watching Sherlock sometimes would do that to him. The young man had no idea, no, none at all as to how beautiful he was. Sometimes just watching him do simple things would reduce John to knots. It was best that Sherlock did not know how he truly made him feel.  
"Do you want to help me with this?"  
John turned back and curiously looked at his flatmate.  
"Lestrade said another set of eyes would definitely help this case and well, you could read it too and tell me what you think, and together we could solve it."  
"I'm a doctor, Sherlock, not a detective."  
"yes but I have to give you some credit. You did track me down at that party. And you do seem a bit more intelligent than you sometimes let on." Sherlock's eyes met John's with no hint of humour. John sighed and ran a hand through his closely cut blonde hair. Leave it to Sherlock to give a back handed compliment.  
"Nice that you can think that." John came closer and took the proffered file from Sherlock's hand. "I don't promise anything..."  
"Yes, I know that but see what you can do with the comparison."  
John paused and looked into those eyes again. "You've already figured it out, haven't you?"  
"Well." Sherlock shrugged and finished the soup with a slurp. "No need for me to blow my own horn but yes, I have. But have a go at it, Dr. Watson and tell me what you deduce."  
John sighed and perched on the couch. He knew if he was wrong that the young student turned detective would probably hammer him but he wanted to give it a go anyways. Mainly for Sherlock's sake not for his own...  
"Well. It seems that the same types of items stolen 2 years ago were also stolen last week in a similar type of robbery. Same forced entry. Same type of what do they call it...MO?" John perused the files, trying to find other similarities. He finally shrugged and gave them back to a waiting Sherlock. "I think that's about it."  
"Oh Dr. Watson. You DO need to keep learning to fix people because it seems your deduction skills are quite lacking." Sherlock began to pace the flat, his hands locked into each other around his back. "The robberies have more in common than just the items taken and the same forced entry. Did you not notice the similar times they occurred as well as the clues left behind? The footprint? Same sized shoe, with the same tread. The glass was broken by the same type of large object, thus resulting in the same broken glass pattern and shards. The thief, not thieves, as this was the work of one person, was skilled, not a novice and the objects taken were obvious antiquities of such a nature that they could easily be sold at an auction house and yet the owners would re coup their money through an insurance company, leading me to believe as is surely right, that the victims of the robberies and the thief were in this whole thing together to scam the insurance company and split the money." Sherlock took a deep breath and John was transfixed at how alive he was. His cheeks were warm and reddish and his skin practically glowed. John could even see the pulse point in his neck throb with his beating heart. John's breath hitched and he looked away, feeling a tug in his groin.  
"Bravo, Sherlock. Well done."  
Sherlock took a mock bow and gathered up the papers. He shrugged on his coat and threw his scarf around his neck impatiently.  
"Where are you going now? Don't forget you have that lecture tonight."  
"Yes, on the effects of depression on adolescents." Sherlock paused and looked at John with some merriment in his eyes. "I could write the book on that one." He walked quickly to the door and then turned with a flourish. "Off to see Lestrade. And then to the lecture hall."  
"Good. Good that you're going to that. Your brother will be happy to hear you are taking your studies seriously."  
"Oh John..." With that Sherlock was out and down the steps. John sighed and looked around the flat. It was almost as though most of the energy was gone when Sherlock had departed and he was left with just the remnants, crowding his heart.


	3. Heating up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock decide maybe kissing is a good idea

As expected, the lecture on Adolescent Depression was dull and long. Sherlock thought that if he heard one more word about Bipolar disorder, manic episodic behaviours and using psychiatric drugs to combat the symptoms he would scream. Didn't all children go through angst and upheaval he thought. Drawing his coat around him, he quickly walked to the exit door and got in the queue with the rest of his fellow students.  
"Sherlock!!"  
Sherlock froze recognizing the voice. He turned slowly and deliberately put on his best neutral face.  
"Sebastien. How are you?"  
His former friend stood behind him and grinned, his teeth showing much like, Sherlock thought, a shark. In fact, with his narrow face and big head, the young man could be a shoo in for a caricature. "I'm good, Sherly. How are you?"  
Sherlock visibly flinched at the nickname and stood even straighter, determined to let Sebastien's efforts to demean him flow right off his back. "As always. Busy."  
"Not too busy for a party I hope? Got one going on at the Park Pub, tomorrow night. Bring your new ...uh...friend." He emphasized the last word sharply and Sherlock ignored his attempts to get under his skin.  
"Sorry, no, we're both very busy." Sherlock turned around. What the hell was the hold up in the line? They should have been out ages ago.  
"It's at 8 if you change your mind. A little recreational substance will be administered if you catch my meaning."  
"Sorry. The answer is still no. But thank you." Finally the line moved forward and Sherlock was able to walk swiftly towards the parking lot and out to the cab stand. He took the first cab in line, butting in front of 2 other students but ignoring their protests. His ears were hot and his throat tight and all he wanted to do was to escape back to the flat back to his new world of experiments and of John. And suddenly John was more important than anything.  
By the time the taxi arrived at the flat, Sherlock had become worked up. He hadn't planned on ever seeing Sebastien again and to run into the man like he had well, it had unnerved and yes, admittedly frightened him. He had no plans to attend parties where Sebastien was the host but to even be invited took a big chunk of self confidence from him, self confidence that he had found again through working with Lestrade and living with John. Sherlock paid the fare and practically flew up the stairs and into the flat. He looked round, wild eyed, for John, knowing that John was there, somewhere, just not in plain sight. Where was he then? His green coat hung on the peg. His shoes were neatly lined up next to the door. Sherlock threw off his scarf and hurried up the stairs to John's bedroom and as he reached the top and John's door, breathlessly threw the door open and launched himself on to the bed where John was sleeping.  
"Sherlock!! Dammit." John began to flail at Sherlock's thin frame but the student was having none of it. He wrapped his arms around John's middle and clung, burying his head against John's blanket clad chest. "Sherlock? Are you alright?" John stopped fighting him off and returned the hug, pulling Sherlock closer so his head was nestled against his chest. With one hand, John stroked the curls that were still cold and damp from outside. "Did something happen? Did someone hurt you? Talk to me, Sherlock." John's voice was pleading.  
"Sebastien." Sherlock muttered into John's chest. Oh his doctor was warm and smelled of Ivory soap and sleep. Sherlock closed his eyes feeling his hair being petted. It was soothing and his heart slowed down a bit as he relaxed.  
"Take off your coat and shoes," John said, pushing Sherlock away gently, "And climb in here. You can tell me about Sebastien then."  
"Don't say his name," Sherlock commanded suddenly, putting a long thin elegant finger against John's lips. "Please. It sullies your mouth."  
"What..."John was speechless as Sherlock shrugged off his coat and kicked off his shoes only to then crawl under the covers, fully dressed and resumed wrapping his long body around John's much shorter one. "What happened? Sherlock?"  
"Don't want to talk about it. Don't want to." At that point, Sherlock sounded like he was 10 years old and caught doing something he would not admit. John sighed and gave up.  
"Ok, then, have it your way. How was the lecture?"  
"Dull." came the response from against his chest. John resumed the hair petting since Sherlock seemed to like that.  
"Well not everything can be Inspector Lestrade approved, Sherlock. Life is life."  
"Boring." Sherlock continued to nuzzle against John and then pulled the one blanket over both of their shoulders. John swallowed as he felt a flush of desire run through his own body. The nearness of Sherlock and just the way his body was angled was very appealing.  
"Well, boring and dull are 2 adjectives I can live without. You use them too much." John decided to try to think of anything but the warmth of Sherlock.  
"Can't help it. Just the way it is, John." Sherlock was squirming around and suddenly placed little kisses on John's neck. It was intoxicating and John stilled, allowing the wave of pleasure to momentarily wash over him.  
"Oh," He sighed. He arched his neck up. "Sherlock," he hissed.  
Sherlock took that as a sign of doing something interesting. He continued to kiss on John's warm skin, and then began to nibble at the juncture of his collarbone and neck. John jumped and Sherlock bit down again, this time harder.  
"Sherlock! Stop!"  
"Why? you seem to enjoy it." Sherlock nipped and then sucked with his front teeth holding on to a tiny bit of John's skin. John's hands tightened around Sherlock's back and he moaned.  
"Please....please..." John began to thrust his body against Sherlock's. He was lost in a pleasurable haze of warm mouth against his skin and Sherlock's body pressed against his own. All he could feel was that mouth and those hands, now rubbing along John's bare skin under his sleep tee shirt. Long fingers that stroked his ribs and his sides and now his bare back...  
"John." Sherlock broke contact with John's neck and began to kiss John's cheek, slowly sliding his lips to John's open lips, where he placed the most delicate of kisses against John's soft lips. John gasped and suddenly his hands were on either side of Sherlock's face, and his lips were now pressing against Sherlock's lips, and John's tongue, sweet mother of God, John's friggen TONGUE was teasing Sherlock's bottom lip and Sherlock opened his mouth so John could gain access.  
John was gentle as he swept his tongue along the inside of Sherlock's bottom lip. He tasted tobacco and peppermint gum and it was intoxicating to him. Gently he thrust his tongue more inside and Sherlock opened up to him, his own tongue beginning to explore John's mouth and they kissed, tongues occasionally touching but still very gentle and tentative. John broke the kiss first and stroked Sherlock's cheeks.  
"You are so beautiful," he whispered and to Sherlock, it was more than a drug it was a high no amount of drugs could ever give to him.  
"John," he said simply in answer.


	4. the difference between sex and love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock decide to take their friendship to the next level.

John wasn't even thinking when he pulled Sherlock's shirt over his head. A grunt from Sherlock told him that perhaps his curls had caught but John resumed kissing that sweet exquisite mouth. Their tongues dueled against each other's lips and teeth and as John gently bit down on Sherlock's bottom lip he felt his younger friend moan against his mouth. It was the most erotic thing John had ever heard.  
"John.....John...please...." Sherlock was trying to rut against John's leg, the outline of his hard cock pressing against his jeans, pressing against John, his breath hitching and his hands trying to tear John's t shirt completely off of him.  
"Ok, it's ok...Sherlock.." John took a deep breath and pulled his shirt off, his eyes locked on Sherlock's flushed face and too bright eyes. John pressed the palm of his hand against Sherlock's hot face and Sherlock turned his face to plant kisses on John's hand.   
"I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you so hard--" Sherlock hissed, diving in for another kiss, and this time there was nothing gentle about it. John panicked momentarily. It wasn't that he didn't want Sherlock; it was just that he had never done anything like what Sherlock wanted with another man. "Do you want me? John? Do you want me?"  
John's heart slammed against his rib cage, unsure if it was sexually charged, terrified or a little of both. They were both on their sides in his bed, facing each other, and Sherlock was panting softly, still caressing John's bare chest. And then Sherlock was waiting no more.  
Sherlock pulled John closer to him, reaching around his lover's back and securing him next to him. His disadvantage was wearing clothes but John wore nothing but lounge pants and his erection was straining against them. Quickly, before John could say anything, Sherlock reached between them and shoved his hand inside the lounger's waistband, and down until his long slender fingers touched John's hardness. John hissed with a sharp intake of breath and thrust against Sherlock's hand.  
"Oh my God. Oh please. yes."  
Sherlock began to stroke the turgid shaft, amazed at how much alike John's shaft felt compared to his own, albeit smaller and more compact. John's tip was wet, the skin pulled back and as Sherlock touched his fingertip to the velvety wet head, John lurched forward, gripping Sherlock's shoulders hard. His mouth latched on to an area of Sherlock's neck and he bit down, causing the young man to groan and stroke the cock in his hands faster and faster. John gasped and suddenly, Sherlock was rewarded with strings of ropey cum on his fingers.  
"That was so fast...I'm sorry--"  
"--Shut up and feel me, John." Sherlock wriggled out of his jeans and underwear and threw them aside to the floor. "I need it, please, please please..."  
"Yes." John reached between them and fisted Sherlock's weeping cock. His shaft was long and throbbing and he was already wet with pre cum. John rubbed one finger along the underside, feeling the sensitive vein and up around the head. Sherlock cried out once and his hips lurched forward and John felt the hot liquid all over his hand and fingers. Sherlock shuddered once and then fell forward, his head resting against John's chest.   
John wiped his hand on the blanket then wrapped strong arms around Sherlock, who was snuggling closer. it wasn't surprising that both of them were getting aroused again, and this time around, John hoped he would have some staying power, not like the first touch hadn't sent him into heaven. Tentatively he pushed his hips forward against Sherlock's hardening shaft. Sherlock sighed and his head came up to kiss John again, slowly grinding his lips against John's own lips in a heated duel of tongues and spit.  
John rubbed one of Sherlock's hard nipples and Sherlock moaned against the kiss. Seeing that he liked it, John paid closer attention to the hard little bud, rolling it in his fingers and tweaking it, all the while Sherlock was making sounds like he was gasping, although they kept kissing. Impatiently, Sherlock pulled John's hand away from his chest and slammed his own cock hard against John's burgeoning shaft. John grunted and returned the thrust, both cocks benefitting little from the thrusts.  
"John please...let me...please.." Sherlock stopped moving and stroked John's face tenderly. "I think I know how."  
"Well.....I have never..." John considered how eager and sincere Sherlock looked and his resolve melted. "Fine, good, ok. IF you have some lubricant because we so are not doing THAt without it..."  
"Silly John." Sherlock looked so pleased that John returned the smile with one of his own, although he was sure it wasn't all that confident. He watched as Sherlock rose quickly from the bed and kicked his pants away with one bare long foot. He looked back over his shoulder, his stunning pale angular shoulder, John thought, and for a second looked slightly akin to a demented angel, and winked. "Be right back, John."  
"Right. yes. Ok." John laid back in the bed, feeling his cock relax a bit. It still throbbed with need but at least this gave him a bit of a break to actually remove his loungers (they were ready to be laundered, he noted as he grabbed the wet spot on the crotch inadvertently.) he lay naked in his bed with thoughts of Sherlock and what they were about to do. And he knew, after this, there would be no turning back in their relationship. THIS would define it.  
"Back. Sorry. I had to turn the lights all off." Sherlock was breathless but nonetheless grinning happily as he pulled off the blanket and eyed John's body hungrily. John instinctively went to cover his crotch with one hand but the younger man was having none of that. He pushed John's hand away and replaced John's hand with his mouth.  
"OhmyGod" John held on to the mattress, gripping the bottom sheet as his senses went to hyperdrive. The feeling of Sherlock's soft lips around the head and length of his hard cock was heavenly. Sherlock licked a long strip down it, then nuzzled the tip with his tongue, scraping his bottom teeth over the glans which was now leaking pre cum like crazy. John tasted of salt and ...really nothing else...more like mucus than an actual taste. Kind of like snot, Sherlock thought, so it was not unpleasant. He reached and held on to the shaft with one hand while he licked and sucked his way up and down the hard length, listening to John's moans above him and the way he was spreading his legs and pushing down on Sherlock's head it was almost too much and Sherlock released the cock with a small popping sound. he sat up next to John and reached for the lubricant he had brought upstairs. It was KY Hott, a brand that promised to heat up when applied to skin with friction, and as he squirted it in his hand, he tentatively coated his own shaft with gentle fingers, running his digits up and down his length. He knew John was watching so he threw back his head and moaned, genuinely turned on but also enjoying somehow putting on a show for his John. The lube began to heat up and Sherlock moaned. It was quite good and as his fingers pumped, John bumped him with a shoulder and pushed him back on to the bed so Sherlock was on his back and John was fisting his cock, taking over from Sherlock, whose hand had been gently pushed away. Soft lips closed over Sherlock's left nipple and then a nip, taking Sherlock to the next level. His cock throbbed, his mouth felt empty and he was so close to this man above him, so very close they were almost one. He had never felt so much possessiveness, so much love rage in his life and it was fueling him as he bucked his hips against the hand that stroked his hard cock and the lube that was making his shaft burn with a tingle and a pull that had him almost coming.  
"John please..." Sherlock pushed John's hand away and sat up, panting, dislodging his smaller lover.   
"I could you know, use my mouth on you..."John said almost shyly. Sherlock impatiently pushed John down on the bed again and pushed John's legs apart so Sherlock could lay between them. "Sherlock...I...I don't know about this..I..."John looked terrified.  
"Shhhhh, John. My John. I won't hurt you." He kissed those lips, those hot lips that yielded to him and opened with his own. They kissed deeply for a few moments, and time seemed to stop. All that mattered was the kiss and the heat and the need.   
Sherlock slipped a hand down to the lube and coated his fingers again, tipping the bottle so some oozed on the sheet but Sherlock ignored that and simply brought his hand up between them, stroking John's inner thighs, pleased really that John was not overtly hairy. His skin was soft and underneath that skin, Sherlock felt his hard muscles. Up up up went his fingers, slowly rubbing the lube into John's skin, eliciting little gasps of pleasure from his lover. As Sherlock's tongue dove deeply into John's willing mouth, his finger paused at the tight ring of entry between John's legs, then pushed forward, inside, feeling the muscle resist at first and then release so the tip of Sherlock's finger could gain entry.  
"Oh God, please...Sherlock!" John hissed, his torso coming up off the bed. Sherlock captured his mouth for another kiss and moaned around him just as he pushed his finger further inside the tight hole. John was not yielding but the tight heat and the way his butt muscles clenched told Sherlock that he should keep trying. He pulled his finger out then shoved it in up to the second knuckle, the lube creating a heat around his skin. John moaned and tried to push Sherlock away.  
"Shhh John...it's alright. It's alright. Just relax."  
"I can't. Hurts." John shook his head back and forth on the pillow, his eyes half open his pupils blown wide.  
"Just let me get this right. Just relax please...I read about this..." Sherlock pushed his finger in and then drew it out, in and then out, the lube aiding his way somewhat. John was still tense but was working with Sherlock not against him so that told Sherlock that something he was doing at least felt good. Quickly lubing up his other fingers, Sherlock pushed a second finger into John's ass with some force, causing John to hiss and bite the hand he had thrown over his own mouth. Pausing to work the lube in a bit, Sherlock then withdrew the fingers and arched them back inside of John eliciting a low guttural noise and a raise of the hips suddenly.  
"Oh Jesus Sherlock please right there..please right there right there"  
"There? here?" Sherlock wriggled his fingers, pleased that he had found John's prostate. He continued to stroke in the same area realizing that John was getting hard too. "Or here? One finger?" Sherlock removed his two fingers then stroked in just one, causing John to gasp and swear. "Or two?" Two fingers went sliding inside of John and he cried out. "Why not three then?" Sherlock pushed a third finger inside of John, feeling the wet heat go straight to his own cock, causing him to bite his bottom lip and grunt. John was swearing, calling Sherlock's name, tossing his head from side to side but his own hand was now wrapped around his own cock and he was pulling at it and stroking it.  
That was enough encouragement for Sherlock. He pulled out his fingers and positioned his hard cock right at the entrance to John's tight ring. He quickly lubed himself up with the KY feeling its hot silk around his cock and fingers, then lined up and pushed the head of his cock inside of John.   
John yelped.  
As Sherlock pushed, John tried to get away but Sherlock held his legs and pushed them up and wider so Sherlock could gain better access. John was panting hard and scrabbling with his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. God, he felt so full of Sherlock and it hurt and burned but oh Jesus God it felt like nothing he had ever felt in his life and it was getting to be good oh yes the rhythm of that hard cock rocking inside of him felt good. It was hot and full and wet and tight and Sherlock was suddenly on top of him so their chests were flush and John wrapped his legs up and around Sherlock's heaving hips and it was so good that John couldn't be still he moved and moved and thrust and that cock was so far inside of him he felt owned oh God yes this is what it felt to be taken by another man it was heaven yes heaven and his own cock who was stroking it Sherlock had a big hand around his shaft and he was coming and it was just so intense Goddammit it was like fire and then floating and he crashed and landed hard and without a sound he thrust his hips in harmony to Sherlock who was also coming, deeply buried in John's body.  
They lay together like that for a moment, or maybe it was an hour. Finally Sherlock pulled his limp wet cock from out of John, who winced and quietly sighed, and then waited as Sherlock threw himself down the length of the bed, next to John, burying his head against the pillow.   
"Sherlock? Was it...ok for you?" John asked trying to gage the younger man's mood. He wondered If he had been a disappointment, not knowing how many others Sherlock had been with. John was anxious because he couldn't know this mood, if it was good or bad, and he never knew sometimes with Sherlock.  
"Don't ask, John," came the muffled voice around the pillow. John swallowed nervously and lay there stiffly, feeling his ass burn. It was not exactly pleasant with the remains of Sherlock's cum and the lube, now jelly, combining to ooze out the wasted hole.   
"I thought it was...good..."John said softly testing the waters.  
"You thought. YOU thought. YOu have no idea how I thought. Or think." Sherlock rolled over and his face was intense, seriously drawn like he was in pain. John gasped a bit and pulled back, now fearing the worst. hadn't they just made love and hadn't he, John, given Sherlock what he wanted. He did not understand. Sherlock was still such an enigma to him.  
"DO you want...to...cuddle...you could stay here...we could just...lie here..." John tried to reach for Sherlock but the younger man pulled away. He suddenly sat up and gathered his clothing that was scattered here and there on the floor, putting it all in a bundle under his arm, and walked quietly out of the bedroom.   
John felt a lump in his throat and quickly swallowed it down. SO it had meant little or nothing to Sherlock. He resisted the urge to hit something and instead lay back down stiffly. In a bit he would get up, go downstairs, and have a bath and a wash but he wasn't going to even risk being in the same vicinity as Sherlock because if he did, John knew there would be some violence there. He was left to himself and his own thoughts in the darkness of his room, the sheets smelling of Sherlock and sex.


	5. Sherlock's pov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we know exactly why Sherlock reacted like he did after sex with his John....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and support...just needed to write this and it is leaping out of my fingers as I sit here.

Sherlock carefully sat on the edge of his bed, spine rigid, head straight, staring at the opposite wall in his room. He was aware of his breathing, short gasping breaths like he had run a marathon and he squeezed his eyes shut trying to put some order into his whirling head. He had so wanted to have sex with John. How many times since the young doctor had moved in had Sherlock entertained creeping thoughts of just driving his hardness against John? How many hours had he studied JOhn when John was doing dishes, or cooking rice, or reading his lessons on the laptop? He could recite every pore on that face and then some. So then why now did he feel this way? Like he would drown in himself if he let the feelings wash over him and carry him in the current. Sherlock had never experienced anything like he was feeling right now and it terrified...and fascinated...him.  
"Like a moth to a flame," he murmered to nobody.  
Sherlock stood and ran a hand through his mop of unruly messed up curls. He smelled of sex and sweat and John and it was oddly appealing, though perhaps not as appealing as it would have been to just lay beside John upstairs. He was sure John was angry. They had sex. And Sherlock had left him laying there. Even Sherlock had to admit to himself that that wasn't good.  
So now what, he asked himself? A good wash. RIght.  
Under the hot spray of water, Sherlock let his mind drift. He wasn't at all used to that. Usually he had some reason to set his mind on its course, neither drifting or lolling about like a cat in the sun. That wasn't Sherlock's methodology. He was concise, precise and certain. But this...this had him unraveling the past like unrolling one of his mother's Oriental Rug during spring cleaning. Oh, how he and Mycroft had hated that. beating the rugs in the sun as their bulk hung over a makeshift clothesline. His mother was always johnny on the spot come April. "Time to take the rugs outside, Sherlock and My. You can use your cricket bats!" So cheerful. His mother lived to clean, he was sure of it.. Snapping back into the present day, Sherlock soaped up his hair and then stuck his head under the warm spray of the shower jet. It had been almost 2 years ago when Myles happened. Myles happened. Sherlock snorted out loud. Myles. A name...from his past....

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
"We really shouldn't be here, Sherlock. It's dangerous."  
"Dangerous?? Seriously. There's no danger unless we create it. And I am not game to try and go off the pathway. Are you?"  
Sherlock's eyes danced merrily as he held the hand of his shorter friend. Myles had been his bestie for the last couple of years, since Level 10, and now that they were seniors and graduating soon, Sherlock was certain that Myles would also choose the same uni that he had been accepted to. When Sherlock asked Myles, he had always received the same answer. "Wait and see." Well, today, that answer would be achieved and Sherlock would know if they were to continue their friendship past high school.  
"It's seriously high today, Sherlock. Wow. Look at that water!"  
Sherlock paused and looked out over the swells and raises and whitecaps of the Rothay River. They had had 3 days of steady rain and the river, normally placid and idle, was dangerously rolling.  
"Yes, very high and fast moving. If you fell into that, you couldn't get out." Sherlock stared into the grey depths, feeling somewhat morosely, knowing he could just fall in and never care again.  
"Sherlock! SHERLOCK!!!" Myles grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, startling Sherlock out of his reverie.  
"Sorry."  
"Yeah. Yeah you need to be. I worry sometimes about you. That bloody mind palace and all." Myles carefully crouched near the path, picking a rain soggy wild daisy. He offered it up to Sherlock. "Here. Put it in your hair. It would look splendid."  
Sherlock felt a small smile play on his lips. Myles was so cute looking up at him that he felt privileged. Anyone would want this grey eyed, blond haired boy but Myles, well, Myles was HIS bestie, HIS friend, HIS all HIS. "I accept." Sherlock bowed and stuck the flower in his hair, the curls wrapping around the stem like a hat pin.  
"Blimey, you're a bloody queen." Myles started to laugh and he stood suddenly, grasping Sherlock by the shoulders. The mirth left his eyes and he became dead serious, looking older than his 17 years. Sherlock was enthralled by his friend, by how handsome he was, by how close they were right now. "May I kiss you?"  
"Yes, please." Sherlock closed his eyes and felt light lips on his own. It was a gentle kiss, soft and warm but soon turned to something more when Sherlock grasped Myles' arms with his hands and began to open Myles mouth using his tongue against Myles' teeth. Both boys groaned and Sherlock thrust experimentally against his friend, feeling the warmth and hardness hit him suddenly, making his knees weak.  
They had made love in the grass off the path. It was quick and hot and everything Sherlock thought it would be, although neither one of them wanted penetration. Sherlock had gladly given his mouth to Myles' cock and Myles had done the same to him. And then they had kissed, tasting each other. And when they stood, adjusting their clothing, Sherlock was sad that they couldn't have stayed there for a while, just feeling each other. Instead, Myles had been cold. He had seemed embarrassed when Sherlock tried to bring up the subject of uni and had been reticent to even hold Sherlock's hand as they made their way back to the parking area along the path.  
"WHy are you so cross with me? Didn't you like that?" Sherlock panted, trying to keep up with his friend, who was almost running.  
"Not cross, Sherlock. Just not gay. Not like you are obviously." Myles stopped and jabbed a finger into Sherlock's chest. "Tell anyone we did this and I will bloody beat you. Got it?"  
Sherlock stepped back aghast that his best friend would talk like that with such malice and hatred to him. It wasn't making sense and Sherlock tried to close his eyes and just understand what was happening to him. Myles gripped Sherlock's arms tightly.  
"I said do you got it? You won't talk about this will you?" Myles grip intensified and Sherlock gasped.  
"It's not 'got it' it's' have it'. And you are using the adverb incorrectly." Sherlock flinched as Myles' eyes went wide and wild.  
"You stupid git! Correcting my grammar while we....God, you're an idiot. WHy have I put up with you for the last years?"  
"Why have you?" Sherlock asked calmly. He saw Myles relax and then the other boy let him go. Sherlock rubbed his arms where he knew there would be bruises the next day.  
"Because I do like you....just...I took it too far...is all...." Myles ran a hand through his hair.  
"But I liked it too. It was good. You seemed to like it when we were doing it-"  
"-Oh God, Jesus, Sherlock, just stop! STOP, ok?? Quit running your mouth like some hen at Catechism. You sound....ridiculous. We won't talk about this and we won't ever do this again. People ...guys...just don't do this to each other-"  
"-But we did, Myles. We DID and you liked it." Sherlock stood stubbornly in front of Myles on the path. His head was filled with a roar he couldn't fathom. he was angry and hurt and pissed off and he couldn't understand why..just why this had to happen.  
"And you will NEVER....SPEAK...OF THIS...AGAIN..." Myles gave Sherlock a push, hard, so Sherlock stumbled back and almost fell. He stared at his friend with wonder. "Come on....let's go. You're pathetic if you think this is what's gonna happen all the time now. It's done with. You got it out of your system. You're gay, all the boys told me you were. I shouldn't have even started to hang out with you but you got a lot of good stuff like video games and all."  
"Have," Sherlock said as they walked down the path.  
"What?" Myles stopped and looked at him. Sherlock stood up straighter and adjusted his shirt.  
"Have. I have a lot of good stuff. You said 'got'."  
"Oh for..." Myles' face reddened and he slammed a fist against Sherlock's cheek. it was unexpected and hostile and it hurt. Sherlock staggered back and rubbed his sore cheek, taking his fingers away to find blood there. "Want another one? Come on, Sherly. Hit me. COme on, you rich chicken gay...hit me!"  
Sherlock felt the black curtain fall over his eyes. His cheek was swelling and he felt a lump forming in his throat, along with the puzzling revelation that the first person he had ever had sex with now hated him and told him their friendship...was ...a lie....after making love to him....With a roar, Sherlock stood and charged Myles, who, somehow knowing that Sherlock would do just that, sidestepped him so Sherlock slipped and fell into the muddy path, cutting his knee in the process. Myles laughed and then reached a hand down, but Sherlock slapped it away. His hair hung in his face and he was ashamed to even be himself.  
"You can't even fight." Myles whirled and went to place a kick against Sherlock when Sherlock, somehow anticipating that move, rolled away. Myles propulsion carried him off the path where he slipped and to Sherlock's horror, slid into the water, trying vainly to hold on to the slippery weed stalks that lined the bank.  
"NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Sherlock stood and tried to go after him but he slipped again and hit the ground with a thud, knocking the air out of him. Still he struggled to stand and help his friend who he no longer saw but heard the screams and the yells and then silence and he was left alone on the path and there was no Myles and nobody to blame but himself....  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sherlock started and snapped his head up. That was not so long ago that the wounds were still fresh. He couldn't bear to think of lying there with John, although that is all he really wanted. He wanted to have John hold him and tell him that they were alright, that what they did was alright and beautiful and right. Just that it was right and not ...not wrong....  
"Sherlock? Are you all right? Are you....ok?" John was in front of him, JOHN was there with him. Sherlock stared dully at the other man. Gently, John reached out and rubbed the slender man's shoulders, so wet from the water. "I heard you crying." A gentle hand caressed his cheek. Sherlock leaned into it, closing his eyes. HIs John. "Don't cry. It's going to be fine." John embraced Sherlock and Sherlock fell into those gentle caring arms, happy to be with John, happy to be with him in the here and now.  
"I...I was just remembering something..." Sherlock stammered.  
"Well whatever it was let's just put it in the past and ...and move on..." John continued to hold him as the shower spray was getting colder and colder. Sherlock shivered. "Let's get you out of here. Come on." Again gently, Sherlock let himself be led out of the shower and into a warm towel. He leaned against John as the other man rubbed him dry, carefully making sure all the water was gone even from his hands and feet and between his toes. "There now. All done." John leaned against the sink and regarded Sherlock. Sherlock felt his eyes and looked away. He didn't know how to tell John about Myles or what had happened but he was sure that now John would understand that everything in his life wasn't right. And sometimes it got downright messy.  
"You know, I don't care about people who might have ...hurt you in the past..." John said carefully choosing his words. "Well, I mean, I care but ....I'm NOT one of them and I will never...hurt you...at least not intentionally. Sherlock?" Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. He leaned his head against John's chest and breathed in the scent and the feel of his doctor.  
"I understand, John," He said simply.


	6. John gets kissed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We understand that John is a very busy man with his place at the hospital but is there time for some snogging from his flat mate and new lover?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is gonna be short but it is winter time here and I only have a limited time to write during the week what with snow removal (shoveling) and mavigating the streets on the way home from work. I promise better stuff coming and more delving into some angsty smutty stuff too....thank you for the kudos! xxx

John sighed and signed a chart with a flourish. He had been at St Bart's for close to a long weekend, starting at 17 h Friday night until now, SUnday at 18 hours. He was tired and hungry and as he rubbed his hand along his jaw, thought that a hot bath and a close shave would be wonderful. In the hours spent in charge of the ER, he had seen a broken pelvis (oh ice skating at the age of 70 was not always in the best interests!); a lacerated finger (using a snow blower should only be performed by the experienced) and a severe case of the hives (allergies to shellfish don't always surface as a breathing problem), among other maladies. He was ready to go home and call it a day and he hoped that Dr. Masters would also feel the same way, relieving him of his supervisory position so he could go home to 221 B Baker Street.  
John picked up another chart and frowned at the name. Something about Melinda Dickens sounded so familiar and yet...  
"John? Hi. It's me, Mel, Harry's friend."  
A voice at his elbow peeped and John turned slowly, the frown still causing him to have a wrinkle between his eyes, but nonetheless it was still cute.  
"Remember me? Fifth and sixth Levels. From Mourning Side Elem."  
John took in a rather youngish woman with sizable shoulders and a thatch of brownish red hair above a round pleasant face. He remembered popping heads off Barbie Dolls and running his Hot Wheel cars into the dolls' legs when his sister was playing house with her dollies and friends.  
"Of course. Mel. Hi." John shook her offered hand and smiled, squinting up into Mel's eyes, wondering why almost every woman had to be taller than he was.  
"Hey. So are you the doctor here? Tonight?"  
"Um yes, I am. Did you register?" John looked her up and down for a folder and finding none, his eyes shifted ot her wrist to see if she had a hospital bracelet on.  
'Oh it isn't for me. I brought a friend in. He had too much to drink and needs something to calm his stomach." She smiled, showing uneven teeth and a bad gum line. John thought that her friend was probably not the only one who had had too much to drink.  
"Oh well, then, I will be seeing him soon I imagine. So....take care and--"  
"Have you heard from your sister?"  
"Not in a while. I ....I think she's ok. Usually she calls me if she isn't." That was the terrible truth in itself. Harry never called on him unless she needed something.  
"IS she still seeing that girl? What was her name...Cynthia? Cynthia Braddock?"  
"I wouldn't know," John said more abruptly than he meant to. Frankly the subject of Harry was now becoming quite uncomfortable. He was not used to discussing his sister so openly like this.  
"Oh well if you see her, give her my love. I still have the Barbies you know. They may be worth some money." Mel winked and John felt an almost unbearable urge to get some breath mints and give them to her.  
"Well, you never know." John nodded and almost ran out to the charge desk, feeling like he had had an encounter with some sort of unpleasant reminder of his past.

After Mel and her boyfriend there were twins who had ear infections, a baby with severe diaper rash, and a woman and man each complaining about being dizzy. It was never easy to diagnose the dizzy problem and John was happy to pass it off to Dr. Masters for the night. He showered quickly in the lounge, then pulled on jeans, a shirt, and his warm oatmeal coloured jumper to face the evening walk towards home. As tired as he was, the shower had revived him and so on the way, he stopped at a pizza shop and bought a pizza, guessing that perhaps his flat mate liked mushrooms and some kind of meat on his half. For John, a vegetarian, he chose extra cheese and black olive slices with artichokes. On the T, people looked and some licked their lips so byt he time John got home, he was feeling slightly possessive of his dinner.  
"Sherlock!!! Hey, Sherlock! I have a pizza. You hungry?" John reached the top of the stairs and walked into the small living room that also doubled as their sort of study. Sherlock was bent over his desk, writing something with a nib of a pencil that looked absolutely ridiculously small in his large slender hand. "Hungry?" John asked again, placing the pizza on the kitchen table, happy for once there were no body parts strewn about.  
"Hungry? Not really," came the mumbled response. "BUT..." Sherlock turned around so quickly that John felt the breeze hit his face. "I can always eat some pizza." He sat down and with picky fingers, opened the box, peering into it.  
"I got you some meat and uh mushrooms." John felt his face turn red as Sherlock looked up at him, eyes dark in the half light of the room.  
"Meat."  
"Yeah uh I think it is sausage. Not sure." John fumbled with some napkins and perched ont eh opposite seat.  
"Good. Dr. Watson, you smell like Cetaphol."  
"Yeah well,,,," John grinned at this, feeling the tension that had inexplicably boiled up leaving his body, "I didn't take any shower gel with me so hospital soap it is."  
"Smells rather like a lab. Sterile but soulless." Sherlock sniffed almost disdainfully.  
"Just shut up and eat." John took a bite of his veggie pizza and chewed happily. This was good stuff. He had heard some of the other staff mention Nico's. He could honestly say that they were right about how authentically Italian it was.  
"When we get done, are you going to kiss me?" Sherlock said, eyes gazing at John.  
"What?" John coughed a bit and looked up, surprised at the question and the normal tone that Sherlock had asked it.  
":Kiss me. Are you going to kiss me? because I would like that. A lot."  
"Oookkkaaay...." John breathed out, laughing a bit. The young man never ceased to surprise him.

They ate, John three pieces and Sherlock nibbling at one. John tried to encourage Sherlock to eat another piece but the slender genius stood and simply pushed the box away. SO John was left with eating his and then putting the pieces away, trying not to flinch at the sealed bag of toes that were peeking out from the third shelf.  
"Why do you have toes in there?" John asked, washing his hands. Sherlock did not answer so John repeated the question.  
"I'm not deaf, John. I heard you the first time." Sherlock began to occupy himself with the paper and pencil once again. John walked over to where he stood and placed his hands on Sherlock's slender shoulders.  
"Well. You wanted to kiss me. So here I am."  
"Yes, and you can but let me finish this first." Sherlock scribbled on a sheet of paper what looked like a math formula. John watched for a few minutes then sighed and walked away, sitting on the end of the sofa, feeling completely tired from his long shift at Bart's but also weary from just being away from the comfort of his flat. He leaned his head back against the sofa cushions and sighed. At once, there was a soft mouth kissing his forehead. John opened his eyes and looked directly into Sherlock's serious face, inches form his own.  
"Done?"  
"Haven't started yet," said Sherlock. With that, he began to kiss small kisses along John's hairline and then around his neck to the sensitive spot right behind his ear. John gasped and practically jumped off the couch as Sherlock's lips clamped down on the skin with some sort of force.  
"Mmmm my God that is good!" John whispered, offering his neck and ear up to Sherlock's nibbles. Strong hands surrounded John's jaw, then neck, then shoulders and the long fingers began to caress his muscles, causing the young doctor to sigh and lean forward, into Sherlock's arms.  
"I know you're tired, John,: came a languid voice at his ear. "Let's continue this in the morning and we'll see how much you missed me."  
John chuckled and slid his arms around Sherlock, pulling him close and on his lap.  
"I think you underestimate me. I haven't seen you in a bit. Besides, you started this. I think it's up to me to finish it."  
"By all means, then, DOCTOR.....carry on."


	7. How snogging revived the doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John try out some new procedures ....

John laid back on the couch and pulled Sherlock on top of him. It was a bit awkward but just the weight of the student laying on John was arousing. Sherlock's head was hovering above John so he reached up and with both of his hands framing Sherlock's face kept his head still for John to raise and plant a sweet tender soft kiss on Sherlock's lips. Sherlock's breath hitched and suddenly he was pressing against John's mouth with eager and wet lips of his own, claiming John's mouth hungrily. John opened his mouth under Sherlock's ministrations and moaned softly. The feel of Sherlock's hot breath, hot mouth, wet lips, and tongue on his own was just amazing. They tasted each other and John reached around both of them and pulled on Sherlock's shirt, hoping Sherlock would get the hint and raise up so John could get his shirt off of him but Sherlock was involved in the kiss and in seconds John got lost in it as well. Mouth, tongue, lips. Wet hot breath and searching tongue. John was panting. Was Sherlock too?  
Sherlock grunted impatiently and rose a bit, his crotch hard against Sherlock, and peeled his shirt off his lithe body. John heard himself moan and ran his strong hands up and down Sherlock's naked ribcage and then betweent hem so he could rub Sherlock's hard nipple.  
"Oh oh oh John...please..." Sherlock was kissing. breathy and panting, his crotch pushing hard against John's hard crotch.  
"Ok, here..." John pushed Sherlock away and almost off, then quickly sat up and took Sherlock's hand, trying not to react to momentary disappointment in Sherlock's eyes that said John might not go any further with him. "BEdroom. Yours. Let's go." John didn't look back but knew from the sounds of the sofa that Sherlock was getting up. John opened Sherlock's bedroom door and immediately went to work removing his shirt and jumper, all in one, and then going to work on his belt and jeans. His cock throbbed with need but he tried to ignore it, knowing that Sherlock was going through the same thing just from their little necking session on the couch.  
"John....John come here, please." Sherlock had somehow beat John to the bed, and was laying there naked, his red cock against his stomach. One big hand was stroking it and the sight was nearly enough to undo John right there.  
"Yes, yes, give me a minute." John pulled his jeans off and his socks then feeling somewhat exposed walked quickly to the other side of the bed, Sherlock's eyes hungrily following him. He reached down and started to pump Sherlock's hard cock, loving his velvety soft the skin was but how hard the shaft was under that skin. Sherlock moaned and thrust his hips up, hands leaving his own crotch only to throw them above his head so he was pale and beautiful and all John's. John bent and licked the wet head, feeling it jerk against his mouth and wondering how this had all happened, that he would be in bed with another man, sucking his cock and loving every second of it. But here he was and he pushed those thoughts aside only to concentrate on that beautiful cock under his mouth and head. He stroked Sherlock's tight balls, pleased that there was little hair on his tight sac and mouthed the tip then bobbed and swallowed the meaty giant into his mouth until the tip scraped the back of his throat. he resisted the gag and kept sucking, his cheeks blowing in and out as he tasted the veiny shaft with his tongue, pulling out so his teeth just barely scraped along the jerking head. Sherlock was lost in moans and a haze of thrusting. When John engulfed his cock once again, Sherlock's hands flew down and pushed John's head down until Sherlock's cock was almost down John's throat and the young doctor struggled to breath but it was for his Sherlock, his beautiful tortured boy and he wanted the cum to shoot down his throat and to suck Sherlock dry.  
"John John John oh God please please please"  
Sherlock's hops bucked again and then stayed still as pulses of cum spewed down John's throat and bathed his mouth, leaking out of his lips just a little.  
John panted and leaned back, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.  
"Jesus, Sherlock."   
Sherlock moaned and curled up against John. "I have died and you are the cause."  
"Really? That is the first time I have ever...uh...done that ....all the way...to finish it." John thought he sounded ridiculous and should just lay there and say nothing but of course, the endorphins were still flowing and quite frankly his own cock felt like it would burst with one touch.  
"Shall I suck you?" Sherlock purred, running a hand down John's stiff length.  
"OH God yes...please...." John laid back and watched as Sherlock curled around his groin and began to mouth At john's head. John practically leaped off the bed in need. He ached and throbbed and as Sherlock licked the tip with the tip of his own tongue, John groaned loudly, spread his legs and tried to fight down the orgasm that threatened to overwhelm him. Sherlock slowly fisted John's cock, seeming to be fascinated as the pre cum coated his tip, then lowered his head again and took John's cock into his warm mouth. John watched thinking it was one of the sexiest things he had ever seen in his lifetime. Sherlock was sucking gently, letting John's tip rub against his lips as he withdrew his mouth and then engulfing his cock down his throat, then in and out in and out and John was unraveling.  
"Now...please...suck me...Sherlock..." John groaned and shoved his crotch against Sherlock's face and suddenly gloriously he was coming and he exploded and nothing else existed but that mouth that wet mouth around his cock.

He laid there panting feeling the warmth of Sherlock's body next to his own. Sherlock was quiet but John was aware that he was staring. He turned his head and raised his eyebrows. "What? Was that good for you?"  
"Yes."   
"Well. It was really good for--"  
"--you didn't make me use a condom."  
John paused and tried to remember his train of thought. "What?"  
"When we fucked the first time. YOu didn't make me use a condom."  
"I...I ....well, um...no. No I didn't." John cleared his throat and suddenly felt a wave of shame hit him, making his face burn. he was a doctor for God;s sake and he had had unprotected sex with a junkie. Or a former junkie. He didn't want to even think about the consequence but then here they were. "So. Are you...have you been..." John was fumbling for words.  
"Am I clean? Have I been tested?" Sherlock sighed. "Yes, John. Mycroft insisted on it."  
"Well that's good. That's very good." John sighed, relieved and anxious all over again. How had he been so ...stupid...the first time? he was usually responsible. Or ...he knew he needed to be responsible.  
"Does that make you happy?" Sherlock cuddled against John and John raised his arm and pulled Sherlock close to him, his cock stirring in interest again.  
"Well um yes, it makes me feel well happy or better yet uh relieved that you don't have...that you aren't...." John licked his lips , aware that he his throat was dry and his mind was racing.  
"I haven't been using. Because of you, John. Because of this." Sherlock was tracing little circles on his chest. It tickled and yet felt good at the same time."   
"I am proud of you." John ached for the tone in Sherlock's voice. the young man sounded hurt and sad and reflective. "It's good between us, Sherlock. I like ...this..." He waved his hand uselessly unsure of what to call it.  
"And will you always feel this way? Even when you are a famous DOCTOR curing people and helping the masses?" Sherlock's tone was slightly bitter now.  
"Of course." John sat up slightly and looked at Sherlock. "DO you think I will just forget you once I move on to regular practice?"  
"There's a chance, yes." Sherlock wiped at his one eye and John was surprised to realize he was crying. He cuddled Sherlock close, trying to reassure him physically.  
"Well I won't. I won't just want to stop this once I graduate and pass my exams." Sherlock said nothing. "Sherlock? I'm serious." John gave Sherlock's shoulders a small shake.  
They lay there in silence, John trying to digest what had just passed between them and Sherlock quiet for many reasons. Finally, Sherlock snuggled and nuzzled JOhn's chest. "Thank you, John."  
"Of course. It WAS good, wasn't it?"  
"Oh yes it was. Do you want an encore?"  
"You don't have to ask me twice."


End file.
